Pick a Part
by Corroding Clockwork
Summary: Human beings are wonderful at drowning their sorrows in someone else.


******You're **standing in his place  
And I can't make you ******move**  
You're the closest I'll get-to having___him_  
I put you here;  
Don't Leave.

Sometimes he likes to pretend that this isn't a charade; that when the clock strikes twelve everything won't come crashing down, a nightmare to conclude this delusional fairy-tale. It's all in vain, and he knows it. They both do, and it's just a game now, of seeing how long they can cover up the truth with forced laughter and hands held overly tight, like letting go will somehow lift the masks from their eyes faster than they're ready for. This is a game of cat and mouse, and they've been playing so long they've lost track of who's the predator and who's the prey. Perhaps it's neither; they've both considered that option numerous times. Perhaps the hunter here is someone who isn't playing at all, simply watching the two rodents scurry about blindly, waiting with feigned ignorance as they tear themselves apart. It wouldn't be surprising, to say the least, and how ironically masochistic would it be for them to be slowly tearing themselves apart, delaying the final release when the pain and longing would finally come to an end? It's a macabre puppet show, each pulling on the other's strings with mock kindness, waiting to see who will fall apart first. It's thoughts like this, that put them together in the first place. Somewhere between blood and insults, there became a change; soft gasps and swearing into the night. They needed place holders, a pair of blue eyes just like ******His**, and a secretive nature that was just like ___Him_. It's a stupid, selfish relationship that doesn't work and by the end of the week at least one of them has a black eye and is bleeding from two or more places but they don't care. Tension needs release, things unable to be grasped must find a way to be replaced, lower standards and the wrong names.

There's a hand on his arm, barely touching his skin and he knows why, as he presses his cheek more firmly against the window. Azure optics stare out at the falling rain, a palm flat against the glass and sheets pooling over his bare form. The slender digits upon his flesh do not constrict, nor do they move away and the younger of the two males can feel oceanesque eyes upon him, the intense stare evoking a sigh that is audible in the quiet bedroom. It's not an unusual nor provoking noise, and certainly more welcome than the usual morning muteness that tended to follow after a night spent underneath satin covers. Lithe fingers curl against the cold window pane, eyes closing for only a moment before his head turns, ivory shutters opening to stare into the face of someone he's hesitant to deem a lover. Hesitation stems not from a lack of knowledge, but more so from an excess of it and the blond purses two pale pink tiers, gaze flickering to focus instead on a nearby lampshade. He doesn't care about it, but anything to avoid looking into the blank irises of the fighter he has beside him. Silence, uneasy yet all too familiar settles in between them and there's something akin to tension that neither side is eager to break. It's one of the rare times he's glad his 'boyfriend' (and he shudders at the thought) is prone to removing anything that causes discomfort, situation or otherwise, because suddenly the suffocating silence is broken and air is returning to his lungs in a quick, deep breath of the mind.

"Aren't you cold?" Riku asks and suddenly Roxas wants to laugh, and he's not quite sure why. Maybe it's how sincere the boy sounds and it's almost hilarious to think that maybe he actually cares about a little cold weather, rather than simply trying to force a conversation. In response, the blond merely smiles and shakes his head, removing his hand from the glass of the window. The upward twitch of the lips is returned and for a moment, he swears he can see two small tattoos underneath emerald eyes. He blinks and the image is gone as soon as it came, and suddenly his chest feels heavy, cerulean hues casting their gaze downward, light blue sheets falling from his body as he starts to get up. The hand on his arm falls delicately back to the mattress as feet plant themselves upon the coarse carpeting of the tidy bedroom, bare extremities trembling slightly. Neither of them says a thing, which is good as he has no answer prepared for a question as to why he's suddenly shaking. He begins searching the room for his undergarments first, fully planning on leaving to go somewhere and clear his head for the rest of the day-or perhaps the rest of the day-and he's just found them, halfway under the bed when Riku says his name. It's ignored, on impulse, and that shouldn't be anything new because he does it all the time, but it's when a pillow hits him in the head that he stops, blue underwear around his knees and a slightly bewildered look on his face. Riku's eyes had narrowed and the air was suddenly caught in Roxas' throat, mouth dry as he pulled the clothing up all the way and forced his focus to look somewhere else.

"...What?" He asks softly, running a hand through his hair as he scans the room for the other articles of clothing that were thrown with abandon several hours ago. His tone is snappish and colder than he intended and he knows somewhere he's crossed a line, but he's not quite sure where; he talks like this all the time, snaps off and hisses when he shouldn't, runs off and doesn't return for weeks. This is their routine and it shouldn't be any different this time, but apparently it is because Riku's gaze never leaves him despite the silence that is slowly settling back in. It's colder than it was moments ago, he thinks, as he finds his shirt splayed out over the top of a desk and he stares at it a moment, a shudder running up his spine before snatching the article of clothing and pulling it over his head in one swift movement. He hears his name called again and he turns this time, facing the silverette with bright blue optics, awaiting a follow-up of some sort. "You're leaving?" Is the question that he receives and it brings a look of surprise to his face-what was Riku expecting? He nods slowly, lips turning downward into a frown before giving a nod in return, wondering what the older male was playing at. It wasn't as if it were odd for Roxas to abscond before noon came, in fact staying a full day was extremely rare and that should have provoked a question of some sort-not an everyday act. "Yeah. I usually do, don't I? Is that a problem?"

"Of course not. Just wondering." It's a bitter tone and Roxas can't help the sigh that slips past his lips, ignoring the need for pants just now. He's angry, irrationally, and he strides back over to the boy still sitting upon the mattress and for a moment he wants to punch him, smack him, anything to wipe the pathetic look from his face. "Bullshit." Is his response instead of a physical punishment as he narrows his eyes at Riku, "Just tell me what the problem is; did I not perform well enough or something? Sorry." It's a hiss, feral and unapologetic. He's making it clear he hasn't done anything wrong and Riku has five seconds to fess up before he gets his head torn clean off. Roxas hates being confused, being out of the loop, and this asshole isn't making this easy.

"...It's nothing."

"Like ******fuck** it's 'nothing'."

"It doesn't ___matter_-"

"Would you just tell me, dammit-"

"I don't want to talk about it-"

"___For the love of_-"

"I don't care if you leave-"

"Then what the hell is this about?!"

"It's nothing,___alright_ Sora?!"

The room is suddenly silent and Roxas knows the mistake, the slip up, hasn't reached Riku's ears yet. He swallows harshly and hoarsely manages to push a reply past his lips, palms shaking as he curls delicate fingers into them, blunt nails making shallow indents into his flesh.

"I'm not."

A pause, confusion still reflecting in the other's eyes.

"What?"

"Sora."More silence, his eyelids cover pained azure irises but he can feel chartreuse hues staring intently at him, the silverette's voice reaching his own ears for the first time. The room is cold and he's bordering on tears, arm yanking back as he feels someone else's fingers-Riku's-attempt to wrap around his wrist. This is incredibly surreal, standing in his Chocobo underwear and about to completely break down, and he vaguely wonders if this would somehow be different he were wearing pants. He can hear a soft 'Roxas' from in front of him, but he doesn't care. The mistake's been made and he's finally put it out in the open. The reason for this relationship, the kisses, the charade they've been putting on for far too long. It's to see someone else, and neither of them had the strength to say it until now. But there it was, and it hurt more then expected, to hear, vocally, how low they'd fallen and Roxas feels as if he's about to throw up, the world spinning behind closed eyes. He stumbles back, ivory soles clumsily placing themselves a few feet from the bed, a shaking breath, deep and long vibrating within his throat as he finally opens his eyes once more. Not to look at Riku; no, he avoids that like a plague and the other boy makes no effort to do anything else because he knows he's fucked up, spoken one of two taboo words and the world is crashing down around their ears. Pants, located on a far chair are quickly grabbed by porcelain fingers and shoved over his undergarments, eyes never leaving him the whole time but no one speaks, not anymore. He doesn't bother with the zipper-he wants to get out, who the hell cares if his fly is down-stomping out of the room the second the button is done. Fuck his shoes, he doesn't care, as hot tears finally start to fall and he's not sure if it hurts more to come to terms with the fake confessions on both ends, or the fact that Riku isn't even attempting to follow him. The arrangement is over, they both know it, and the guilt that's been eating away at them has stopped, replaced by a monster that is growling inside their rib cages. Hatred, anger, self-pity. Those emotions are prominent now as a sob finally forces it's way through his lips and out into the open.

Then he's running, no looking back, the wind hitting his face and he just wants to be ___gone_. He won't stop until he's far away, in someone else's arms with more secrets, more names to hide; he'll create an endless cycle, so will Riku, until they've both worn themselves out and have nothing left to hate, to cling to, but themselves and the lies they've been spinning.


End file.
